Daughter of the Sky
by AmericanWordsmith
Summary: When Tinkerbell disappears from Neverland, it starts the most violent war to date between Pan and Hook. But Tink has no interest in returning to Neverland... so it's the fairy's half-human daughter recruited to put an end to the war. When Margot Belle returns to the home she never knew, will the compelling and infamous Pirate Captain distract her from her true destiny?
1. Chapter 1

_**Apologies to any of my Klaroline fans who are not cool with me starting another fic. An OC fic no less… but I'm sorry this has really been nagging at me to be posted. All KC fics are still in the works and soon on the update list.**_

 _ **So! This is for all the Captain Hook fans out there. As far as story goes, it's a mix of the novel and the 2003 movie. Hook, is of course the fabulous Jason Isaacs portrayal. Neverland's details are a mix of the 2003 film, Hook, and my own thoughts. Enjoy and please review and follow!**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1**_

As far as Margot knew, it had always just been her and her mom. A self-described wild child of the '80s who'd given birth to Margot at 15, this often meant her mother felt more like a sister than a proper parent. Especially, now that Margot was turning 26 and, at 41, her mother Tiffany was still acting like a girl in her early 30s.

Margot was turning 26 _today,_ actually, and it also just happened to be Halloween. In her earliest childhood years, Margot had adored the day and not just because it was her birthday. Tiff, an often emotionally absent and frequently depressed woman, gained a whole new persona on Halloween — perfectly adoring and enchanting and beautiful.

She had told Margot before that Halloween was the only nights where real magic came out… Magic powerful enough to even turn adults into children again for one blissful evening. And like that strange journey through time of leaving or childhood fancies to rest to awaken new desires, it was a little bit frightening but very exciting all the same.

And because it wasn't _just_ Halloween — it was _their_ Halloween, Margot's Halloween — hey didn't celebrate exactly as everyone else did in the small suburb of Philadelphia. They had their own rituals. For one, they always dressed up together as fairies.

Oh her mother had been the most wonderful seamstress, crafting glittering dresses for them that looked like they'd been sewn out of thousands of real, delicate flower petals. Their wings were the stuff of neighborhood legend; every one of Margot's friends' mothers begged her year after year to the secret of her crafting. They were paper thin, ethereal things that Margot pretended truly were naturally part of her back.

And after a night of trick or treating and frolicking with the other strangely dressed children in town, Tiffany and Margot would stay up all night, much later than everyone else, to watch the sun rise. It was only as the sun began to peek over the horizon that her mother would finally let Margot crawl into her lap and begin to lure her to sleep with stories of a place where fairies and pirates alike were real. Finally, she'd drift off when her mother began to sing a lullaby about flying among the stars. For a split second, hazy with sleep, Margot always felt for a split second that they actually were.

* * *

And then one year it abruptly stopped. Her 11th birthday, or what Margot would come to know as the strangest year of her life, also happened to fall right around the time she got her first period. Her mother Tiffany, quite simply, had not known how to handle the incident. Frankly, she had treated it as nothing short of a disappointment.

All the things that mothers are supposed to know, the wisdom they're supposed to gently pass on, Tiffany seemed to know nothing of. Margot was left to parcel it all out with advice from her friends.

That was the first Halloween that her mother had not gone out with her. She'd refused to make a fairy costume that year, suddenly complaining that she had no time and dragging Margot to the grocery store to pick up something cheap instead. Margot, a little thrilled to have a choice in her costume for the first time, if nothing else, decided to be a lady pirate. Tiffany's typical beautiful face had twisted into an uncomfortable pinch of distaste at that but she'd silently acquiesced and made the purchase.

It was also within her 11th year, that Margot began to see boys quite differently for the first time though, as of yet, they still wanted very little to do with her.

Innocently enough, one day Margot had queried of her mother, "Mama, how do I get a boy to like me?"

Tiffany had gotten that pinched look on her face again before saying "You're far too young to be worrying about boys darling, whatever do you want with one? They're utter little brutes, dirty and violent and rude… You stay away from boys, Margot, they're all trouble."

Even at that young age Margot remembered finding her mother's response distinctly odd. In the coming years, too, she'd find it even odder that a beautiful and perfectly available young woman such as her mother would remain completely single and uninterested in dating. It was like Tiffany had radar for men approaching her, and a single withering glare would send them scampering backwards, tails tucked between their legs.

Nothing was stranger, though, than when Margot tried to ask about her father… Or any of their family really. No other question made Tiff more despondent, sinking her into week-long deep depressions.

She steadfastly refused to even _speak_ her father's name. All Margot knew was that he'd been 15 when she was born too and, by all accounts, had no idea she even existed.

"You're father never would have understood my having a child, he was just a child himself!" was about the most Margot could get out of her. When she pressed what made Tiffany herself so much more mature at the same age, her mother would just scoff and flounce off in annoyance. Because, Margot learned over the years, Tiff seemed to be perpetually stuck in the disposition of a teenager herself.

So they'd grown quite estranged over the years. For awhile Magot had sought solace in seeking out secret boyfriends. Later it became apparent that _someone_ in her house had to be the adult — Tiff had a difficult time holding down a job — so Margot had helped to keep them afloat in her last few years in high school before college.

She'd always been smart though and a voracious reader. None of her peers or teachers were particularly surprised when she got a full scholarship to Carnegie Mellon for a degree in literature.

Her mother, unsurprisingly, had never really seen the value in school or prestige so degrees and displayed little excitement over the event. They parted on cold terms and Margot had cried for a week straight when she first arrived in Pittsburgh for college.

And after that, she'd never quite forgiven her. Since then, Margot had always felt suddenly and painfully weighted by a bitter heart.

* * *

So, it wasn't terribly surprising when Tiffany found her daughter ignoring her calls on her 26th birthday and Halloween. Honestly, she didn't even know if her daughter celebrated anymore. They barely spoke, especially now that Margot was in grad school in England, Oxford specifically. Tiffany couldn't even fathom bringing herself to visit, England had far too many memories.

"You've got Margot, leave a message," a recording rang out on a second attempt at reaching her daughter.

"Hullo sweetheart," Tiffany started, biting on her lip nervously. It had been four months since they last spoke and even then it had been a five minute cursory check-in. "I just wanted to see what your plans were for your big day… I hope you're going out and having some fun?" What would she be dressed as? Tiff could remember those tiny wings like it was yesterday… "Anyway, I've been thinking about you a lot this week, my darling. Call your Mum back. Happy birthday, love you."

Tiff ended the message with a distinct sinking feeling in her something. Her old intuition from her days with Peter was acting up… The same feeling only she and other fairies could get when danger was near. Things were so benign is this Earthworld apart from the Never Neverland that she rarely felt the sensation anymore. She didn't like feeling this way tonight, so harsh and palpable, twisting in her gut like Hook's poison…

Tiff debated calling Margot one more time but didn't want to annoy her daughter by hassling her. With a sigh, she put down her phone and got ready for a shift at her new waitress job.

* * *

"Maggie?" Sarah asked, using the pet name Margot only allowed for her. "Would you just pick up your goddamn phone, for God's sake?" her cockney accent was tinged with annoyance "Oh for fuck's sake, who are you avoiding like the plague?" she asked when Margot's phone finally stopped ringing.

"My mom, of course," Margot responded flatly, her Mid-Atlantic American a stark contrast to her British friend's. She marked the message her mother had left as read and resolving to listen to it tomorrow… Or the next day.

"Oh, thought it might be that Brad fellow," Sarah remarked, blessedly letting the subject of her mother fall, knowing Margot's feelings all too well.

"Him? No, he didn't turn out to be the clingy type, luckily," Margot said with a cheeky grin, "he was one of those selfish types that prefers to drunkenly skip any foreplay."

Sarah's nose scrunched upwards in disgust while she finished pulling up a sinfully short little white dress that was going to be a unicorn costume. Margot looked down onto the bed where a shoddy little pair of very cheap pixie wings rested. They were bright purple and glittery and an absolute _sham_ version of the wings her mother used to craft each year. To be honest she wasn't even sure why she had chosen this _pixie_ costume — _pixie,_ not _fairy, she couldn't help but insist mentally and defiantly._ She'd been thinking about her mother an uncomfortable amount this week… Something had just felt, _off._ Guilt twisted subtly in her belly when she ignored the call.

"Come on, let's pre-game before Rex comes to pick me up," Sarah said, referring to her polo playing fiancé who would be whisking her best friend away to a private yacht party later… To which she, the American without a father, was not invited. Sarah thrust a large glass filled to its brim with whiskey into Margot's hand.

"Bottoms up," Margot said before clinking their glasses together.

* * *

After Sarah had left for her most fancy and exclusive upper crust of England party, Margot's plan had been to hit up one the on-campus grad parties and keep drinking.

But the only part of that plan that had panned out was that she kept drinking. She'd ended up feeling very melancholy and incredibly sorry for herself. She'd gotten all dressed up to go out, pairing the purple wings with a little silver satin slip of lingerie from Victoria's Secret, hemmed in a dark crushed velvet trim.

Paired with the glittery wings, some sequined pumps, and a smattering silver eyeshadow and eyeliner, Margot couldn't help but feel deliciously decadent to be so dressed up and decidedly maudlin on her birthday. The expensive whiskey that Sarah had provided was helping to encourage her behavior. Her mother had always been indulgently depressed, Margot thought, that was probably where this side of herself came from.

So pathetically, enough, Margot nodded off in her own bed before it was even 10 o'clock. She had restless dreams of being lost in a woods, somewhere incredibly human. She searched for her mother…

Some unknowable amount of time later, Margot was awakened by something flicking and stinging her forehead insistently. Sleepy, she slapped at the offending feeling. In response, a tiny hand grabbed her finger and suddenly was biting her.

"Jesus!" she cried out, her eyes snapping open as she gripped her injured finger.

But her pain was soon forgotten as she slipped into shock at seeing a tiny winged woman flying right in front of her face. The creature was buzzing most peculiarly but slowly the noise began to morph into a gentle and melodic language… One that Margot could understand perfectly.

"Margot? Is that really you?" the creature asked, "Of course it's you, you look just like your mother! And Peter too of course!"

"Peter?" Margot murmured in a daze, her eyes unwilling to believe what she was seeing.

"Peter, your father of course! Where's your mum, where's Tink? She needs to know, we've got to get back to Neverland right now, there's a war…"

"Oh my god, am I tripping? I'm pretty sure I just drank…" Margot murmured to herself.

"Okay, you're drunk, I can see that," the flying woman said, "Actually, you reek of liquor worse than a pirate but don't worry, I'll help you fly."

" _Fly?!_ What? No!"

"Of course your mum taught you to fly, right?"

"My mom is a chronically unemployed sometimes-waitress outside of Philly, who the hell are you, you talking bug?" Margot shouted, her words slurring.

"My name is Starshimmer, and I'm your aunt!" the bug replied. "And for the record, just like your mum and yourself, I'm not a bug but a fairy."

Something about that declaration hit some deeply hidden part of Margot's intuition and memories with a sickening lurch. Feeling suddenly overcome with nausea at this hallucination, she leaned over the side of the bed to void on the floor and promptly pass out.

"Oh dear, best not to let her get too close to the pirates then," Starshimmer decided of her niece. She didn't know where her little sister Tink was, then, because she'd never heard of a city in this realm called Outside-Philadelphia. And what did it mean to be chronically unemployed?

Ah well, if Tinkerbell was needed back in Neverland to end this ridiculous new war between Pan and Hook, surely her daughter would be the very thing to lure her back after all this time. Plus, Starshimmer thought it high time her niece should see where her true home was.

Swaddling the grown woman carefully in her bedding, Starshimmer dusted her in fairy dust and gently flew her out of her dorm room and into the English stars, aiming for one in particular.

* * *

If there was one thing Peter Pan was, it was forgetful. Just as he 'd forgotten Wend, John, and Michael Darling after they returned to London, in time he forgot Tinkerbell when she'd disappeared from their home. There were weeks where he even forgot to play his war games with Hook.

But, very occasionally, sometimes he would remember things. The scent of his mother's perfume or a flash of Wendy swordfighting. And, one day, after waking up from a favorite memory / day dream of Tick Tock the crocodile eating Captain Hook's hand, Peter thought he might like to relive that memory with his best friend Tink.

Thus, he was quite distressed to visit her little fairy house to find that she was not there. He and the Lost Boys spent three long days searching for her before they reached the only possible conclusion — Hook and his dirty pirates must have killed her.

Of course, Captain James Hook had noticed Miss Bell's absence… At _least_ two decades prior, possibly more. One could never truly track time in Neverland. As such, Hook considered it extremely bad form to be accused of a crime he did not commit twenty-five odd years after it was even committed.

Thus a war more gruesome than had ever ensued in Neverland before commenced and Starshimmer, who knew the truth of her sister's disappearance left to put an end to things.

In the meantime, Hook's crew had their eyes on the skies, ordered to shoot down _anything_ they saw. The Captain himself had been rowed inland to search for pan, but the crew remaining on board the Jolly Roger were unfortunately _very_ much engaged when Starshimmer first appeared with Margot over the morning horizon.

"Ye see that boys?" one of the rogues said, looking into a telescope, "Don't matter what it is, load the cannon!"

"Load the cannon!" several other voices rang out.

The blast that rang out, hurt Starshimmer's ears. She tried to evade the obvious trajectory of the oncoming missile but Margot was currently much bigger than she and was thus quite unwieldy. The cannon ripped straight through Margot's sheets, just barely missing both the dead-weight girl and the tiny fairy hand desperately trying to hold her. The rip of fabric resonated almost as loudly as the shot to a panicked Starshimmer and Margot went spiraling downwards.

Like one of those dreams where you could feel yourself falling out of bed — right before your dream would switch to something far more disastrous and have you falling off a cliff — Margot could distantly feel the sensation of a most alarming weightlessness in her sleep. She was too far gone into her dreams, though, to wake up and realize that she was _actually_ falling, quickly and many hundreds of feet towards the ocean waiting below.

Above her, Starshimmer danced back and forth erratically, trying to sprinkle more pixie dust on Margot. But despite the added dust, Margot did not begin floating upwards. It appeared that, in her sleep, the woman had no happy thoughts.

As a last ditch attempt to rescue Margot, Starshimmer flew down towards the falling girl as quickly as possible. Fairies were stronger than they looked, and if she could just _catch_ her…

But the velocity Margot had ultimately fallen into was too fast for the tiny fairy to catch up. The sleep addled woman crashed unceremoniously into the sea, sinking further and further down quickly.

The bracing cold of the water awakened Margot in under a second. Her eyes flashed open in shock and, without thinking, she gasped only to let in a huge lungful of water. Almost immediately her vision began to spot as her lungs ached and her hands clawed at nothing, trying to force herself back to air.

Suddenly, a hand grasped at the back of her slip dress and Margot felt herself being pulled upwards and then almost violently heaved into a small wooden boat. The same hand pounded harshly on her back, threatening to crack some ribs. It was instantly effective, though, and water poured out through her mouth and nose. She let out a wretched gag before she was finally able to inhale a long and shaky breath. She felt like she wanted to vomit.

"There you go, girly! If that fall didn't kill you, the water won't. Though you're lucky we got to you before the mermaids did," a rich voice was speaking behind her.

"Careful of her wings, Cap'n!" another voice rang out as the hand descended to whack her on the back again.

Margot coughed, only able to get out "They're not real… c-costume."

"Of course they're not real, Smee!" the first voice said, "When in God's name have you seen a human-sized fairy?"

The briefest memory of a tiny bug-person flashed through Margot's hungover mind before her vision was swirling and spotting anew. Within a matter of moments she'd promptly blacked out again.

* * *

Margot awoke, possibly hours later, to one of the most pitiful hangovers she'd ever had in her life. Granted, the pounding headache and nausea was also in part thanks to her enormous fall and near drowning but, honestly, Margot was currently unwilling to admit those things had actually happened.

But some things were undeniable. She was resting upon silk sheets with velvet blankets draped over her for one. Secondly, the bed in which she was lying was massive. She was most certainly not sleeping in the paltry little cotton clad bed from her grad school housing. Had she gone home with someone?

With a groan, Margot finally cracked open a bleary eye. Her senses were assaulted. Indeed, she was resting atop a huge four poster bed adorned with silk sheets and velvet covers. But, more importantly, she now found herself inside a room entirely crafted from rich, dark, shiny wood. There were but a few windows in the room but they were all made from the finest stained glass she'd ever seen. In one corner sat a few massive and expensive looking wardrobes. Next to them, two sumptuous leather armchairs, several packed bookcases, and a large globe. Turning to her other side, Margot spotted a long mahogany desk covered in every inch in maps and magnifying glasses and an assortment of other odds and ends.

And behind it sat a man. A man with long dark hair, the most intimidatingly blue gaze she'd ever seen… and a _hook_ for a hand.

"Ah, you're finally awake," he said and his voice poured like honey.

"Where am I?" Margot asked immediately.

He tutted at her, "I've only just magnanimously saved you. First things first. I believe _I_ am owed a name?"

"Margot Belle," she replied, "Where am I?"

"Margot…" the name rolled off his tongue smoothly, like he was trying it on in his mouth. Finally he stood but made no move to step from behind his desk. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Belle. I am Captain James Hook and you are currently resting in my personal cabin aboard my vessel, The Jolly Roger."

She barely registered his name. It sounded vaguely familiar but in no immediate way she could call to mind in her frantic state. "I'm on a _ship_?"

"Aye, my ship."

"How the hell did I get here? I was in Oxford, last I checked. And totally _not_ invited to a private Yacht party..."

"I don't know. When I found you, you had fallen from the sky," the Captain told her, "Lucky for you, we just happened to be returning to the ship from the island. You were wearing wings…"

 _Right, her costume._ Though someone had clearly removed the fake fairy wings, Margot could have cared less. More scandalous was the fact that she was in this strange man's bed wearing scant but a silk slip of lingerie from Victoria's Secret.

All at once relief hit her fast and hard. _Of course, it was just Halloween._ Leave it to her to get a little slutty on Halloween, it always _was_ her most inebriated night of the year. And going home with some dude in a sexy pirate costume good enough to have been a favorite at comic con was pretty much a win in her mind.

"Oh James," she said, almost familiarly, "I'm really sorry but I must have had too much to drink last night. I don't remember a fucking _thing,_ dude. I mean, you know how Halloween gets. I'm pretty sure I had like two bottles of cab sav and a ton of whiskey to myself. Did we…?"

The man cocked his head to the side in complete and utter confusion.

"Madame, I'm afraid I barely understood a single word of what you've just said," he replied. Finally he was crossing from behind the desk to stand in front of it, just a few feet from her now as he leaned onto it. "Did we _what?"_

"You know," Margot said, her brows creasing. "Did we fuck?"

His eyes widened, only slightly and just for a second, before he burst out laughing at her.

"My _God_ , you're some dockside whore!" he exclaimed, still laughing heartily and looking at her almost sort-of adoringly.

Margot's brows creased further, "Alright, buddy, no need to get misogynistic on me. It takes two to tango and all that. I don't see what you have to complain about. If you were looking for some… some… I dunno, some Virgin Mary lay then you were never gonna get any so…"

He stopped laughing to look at her quizzically again, like he knew all the words she was saying but was attempting to put them in a more proper order.

"No, we did not," he said finally, "As you so delicately put it… _fuck._ I am not in the habit of attempting to bed unconscious women."

"Well… that's quite gracious of you," Margot stammered out, feeling genuinely grateful she hadn't succumbed to something she couldn't remember but also feeling like the man before her was not-so-subtly judging her. "In any case, if you could just tell me where I am? I should be getting back to school."

"I've already told you were you are and I'm afraid you're no where close to Oxford my dear girl…" his voice was caressing but the shiver of shock that traversed her skin at the implication of his words made her sick.

"No, seriously, I just need to catch a cab or something, it doesn't matter if it's far…" _Christ, where had she ended up last night? She had really blacked out._

Stumbling out of his bed, Margot made her way to the door, thinking only of _getting out_ , unaware that she was missing shoes and purse and generally anything of any use.

"My dear, I wouldn't open that door quite yet if I were you, you've clearly had a shock-" the honey voice dripped, but Margot was deaf to his words.

She wrenched open the door to his cabin and her jaw dropped open when she saw what lay before her.

* * *

 **So whatcha think? My characterization of Tinkerbell will make more sense in the coming story.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thanks so much to Madame Tango and usualguest for reviewing and messaging me! Made my day to a couple people so quickly on board with a new fic outside my typical fandom.**_

 _ **Head's up, this story is going to pretty high on my personal scale for erotica. Not quite**_ **The Mikaelsons** _ **, but just a small step below that. This will be an adventure fic with a lot of serious lemons. That's not quite starting yet ;) but this chapter should give you a glimpse into what to expect in small dosages.**_

 _ **Next up: Update on**_ **Wrecked** _ **is coming soon (Possibly instantly? At least very soon.) after this. No coincidence there… similar premise and all. Well, not exactly but, you know, shipwrecked feisty ladies and all that. Let's proceed to what Hook makes of Margot's feistiness.**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 2**_

They truly hadn't seen much in the skies these past few days since the war started. Pan was typically too smart to be caught unawares when he was in his element, the fairies rarely flew with him ever since Tinkerbell had disappeared, and he hadn't brought back any new lost boys in ages. Current lost boys were only allotted the fairy dust to fly on _very_ special occasions and wartime was hardly one of them. No, it was more likely that Pan had his ranks working on crafting more ridiculous weapons — those stupid blinding suits made out of mirrors and the like, or guns that shot marbles.

So, leaving his deck crew with the orders, Hook set out for the island with a few men to go investigate. Of course, within the course of the early morning they'd found _nothing_ so Hook had ultimately ordered his men to head back to the ship.

And it was on the row back that Smee had suddenly startled and began to point at something falling through the sky shortly after a shot rang out from the ship. Whatever it was that was falling… looked suspiciously like a _Wendy-bird._

Luckily whatever, whoever it was, had fallen very near Hook's returning rowboat. Friend or enemy — almost certainly an enemy, to that end — he wanted hand and hook on the intruder first. It took just seconds to row to where she'd fallen and Hook thrust his good hand into the water in search of this person.

"Help me hoist her up lads!" Hook bellowed behind him, already recognizing the shape of the figure sinking below him as a woman's. His order was too hastily given though, as he had her pulled over the side of the small boat and slammed back onto the wood just a second later without need of help.

She was well enough alive, he could see right away — bedraggled and dripping and hacking and spitting, but alive. Most peculiarly, she was wearing barely but a scrap of silver fabric to cover herself and a pair of obviously fake fairy wings. Hook didn't know which perplexed him more. No one in their right mind would have believed for a second those wings made her a _real_ fairy, so if that suggested any poor attempt at infiltration, the woman was clearly a fool.

The dress, however, if it could even be called that, was one of the most obscene things Hook had ever seen a woman wear. The whores at Neverland's small port likely would have blushed should the be asked to wear something similar. It was so short that it ended several inches above her knees. It was nearly strapless, except for two thin silver velvet threads criss crossing across her shoulders and back. And the material was _so_ thin that one could almost make out her body in full beneath the fabric — particularly given how the slight material now clung to her whilst damp.

He couldn't think on it now, he realized though; not if he wanted to keep her alive for questioning. Using quite a bit of strength, he slammed his good hand onto her back hard, ensuring that the woman coughed up the remaining liquid clogging her lungs.

"There you go, girly!" he crowed when she began to breath again, inhaling ragged breaths, "If that fall didn't kill you, the water won't. Though you're lucky we got to you before the mermaids did."

If she'd heard him, she made no sign to acknowledge him. Instead she continued kneeling with her back towards him, coughing and heaving, trying very clearly not to vomit. Hook raised his hand again to hit her back and exhume the remaining fluid from her lungs but a quick warning from Smee stopped him.

"Careful of her wings, Cap'n!" he said.

Finally the girl seemed to perk up, "They're not real… c-costume," she managed to choke out.

Ah, so these ridiculous sparkly things _weren't_ an attempt to infiltrate the island. Whyever else would she be wearing them, then?

"Of course they're not real, Smee!" Hook chastised his bo'sun, "When in God's name have you seen a human-sized fairy?"

And almost immediately after he'd said that, the girl had passed out in his rowboat, slumping backwards onto his boots and allowing him a good look at her face for the first time.

A woman she was indeed, not a girl. The way her bosom swelled up beneath that grey sheath was proof of that enough. Tendrils of her long wet hair, now a dark blonde, wrapped pleasantly around her fair face and cleavage. The cold of the water had been enough to make her nipples pucker deliciously beneath the thin fabric… and Hook clearly wasn't the only one to have noticed. The other few crew members on the rowboat with him were leering at her unconscious form with malicious grins. Hook sneered in return.

"Eyes ahead, scoundrels. We must return to the Jolly Roger and, there, I will question this intruder myself," he said, his voice dark enough to make his men snap to the command without hesitancy.

He looked down at her sleeping form again as they rowed. _Hell's hounds she was beautiful but… but quite familiar._

"How did she even arrive here, I wonder?" Hook questioned aloud, but primarily rhetorically.

"A fairy was carrying her, Cap'n," Smee answered anyway, "The real kind, a tiny one."

Immediately, the Captain's head whipped about, searching the skies for one of the angry little beings.

"She's not here anymore," Smee said, as his Captain searched the skies fruitlessly. "She flew off the moment the cannon shot this one down. Haven't seen the thing since."

Hook growled and looked down again to his new charge. He'd have to question her about this first thing. The Neverland fairies were mostly impartial in this new war but, if they favored anyone's side… it was Pan's.

* * *

If Margot was dead, Starshimmer was heartbroken for it. In nearly a trance, she'd watched her beautiful niece fall into the ocean below… but her sense of self-preservation was too high to wait around for long and she'd flown off at near warp speed to make it safely back into Neverland's woods. If Margot, _was_ alive, after all, Starshimmer would need to remain so as well in order to get her back from the pirates.

Sure enough, watching from a safe distance ashore, Star squirmed when she saw the lecherous Captain Hook dragging Margot aboard his rowboat making it's way back to the Jolly Roger. She had to get her back. If Margot was going to be key to stopping this war, she needed to realize who she was and learn her place amongst the fairies. _Nothing_ good could come from her being held hostage by that awful Hook.

She had two choices. The first was to go to Peter and recruit his help to get his daughter back. But that was the crux of the problem, Peter didn't know he _had_ a daughter, much less one that was ten years his senior in appearance. Somehow, it just didn't feel like her secret to tell? Starshimmer had assumed that Margot would know who her father was but apparently she'd let the cat out of the bag there too. Now it seemed Margot was even less likely to believe the truth of it. She wasn't anxious to repeat the mistake.

Which brought her to her second option, she could attempt to bargain win Hook himself. She'd honestly never even met the infamous Captain — dueling with him had really been more her sister's deal and, boy, what Star wouldn't give to have Tink's advice on dealing with the villain now…

* * *

To make it apparent that his charge was not to be _touched_ — nay, even _looked_ at — Hook had carried the unconscious woman in his own arms across the Jolly Roger's deck to his private quarters. Typically, a prisoner would have more likely been immediately dragged behind him, bound, on their way to the brig.

Although, to be sure, Hook couldn't decide whether or not he should bind her. Currently all he knew about this captive was that she couldn't fly, appeared half-drunk, and was not adept at the art of disguise. And while this _seemed_ to dictate that she was a far less than worthy opponent, Hook wasn't one to underestimate an adversary he hadn't battled yet.

That and, yes the thought of her ivory skin all trussed up as she lay on his black silk sheets was admittedly very appealing. He couldn't sidetrack himself with thoughts like that, though. In all his years in Neverland, James Hook had never met an intruder that ended up on his side. He didn't need some sumptuous lips and entrancing silken skin that urged him to gently run hook and hand up to the apex of her thighs… to blind him while Pan daggered him from behind. No, that'd be terribly bad form.

So, tying her up would be out of the question.

"Open the door, Smee," Hook barked out, almost casually, "And get a fire started."

"Aye, Cap," the portly bo'sun replied, shutting the door to the Captain's apartment behind the three of them, knowing full well that he was the only member of the crew that'd ever be trusted in here.

Hook strode ahead and lay the sleeping girl with a surprising gentleness onto his great bed. Immediately Hook disliked just how much he _appreciated_ the site of her there. As he had the thought, the woman's head lolled further backwards onto his pillows and her eyes just barely parted in bleary almost-unconsciousness.

Her eyes were blue — not like his, light blue, like a perfect summer sky in Neverland — and they ever so faintly _shimmered_ , like hidden behind their daylight haze lay a blanket of stars. It was, momentarily, bewitching but he was snapped back to reality when he remembered he'd seen that gaze _before._ But a deal with devil wouldn't have helped him remember… blast Neverland, how it made you forget!

Abruptly he turned around to sink into his desk massaging his forehead with his good hand, refusing to look at the woman lying in his bed until he had another stiff drink in him.

"Smee, get me some rum, bring the bottle," he ordered while his first-mate finished off started a warm fire in the large elegant fireplace, "And then... check her over. Make sure she isn't injured."

Smee turned around in shock, stumbling a bit as he did. "Me, Cap'n? Isn't she… uh, isn't she, well-"

"-Stop stuttering, man, isn't she my _what?"_

Smee had been on the cusp of simply asking ' _Isn't she_ yours _?'_ but thought better of it at the last moment and mollified, "Isn't she _your_ prisoner?"

"Aye, she is. What does that have to do with anything?" Hook bit back, growling harshly, _daring_ the man to push this further.

Smee could have rolled his eyes. He'd known James Hook since the lad was just over 20 years of age. And though his Captain was now a gentleman of possibly 35 — though who knew how much time had passed since they'd first come to Neverland, everyone stop aging here and Smee knew deep down that they'd been on this ship for well over 15 years — he apparently hadn't matured in some respects. Almost like Peter Pan, he didn't want to admit that he was _attracted_ to this woman.

"We don't normally check to see if our prisoners is hurt is all," Smee huffed, fetching the requested rum and taking it to Hook.

Hook smirked distractedly, "Then perhaps you didn't notice but this our first full-fledged _woman_ aboard ship. Even Wendy Darling was merely a nasty little child, as worthless as Pan and his Lost Boys," he replied. "My reputation as an alumni of Eton would surely tarnish if I didn't do my best to respect a true _lady_."

Smee really did have to roll his eyes this time. Woman or not, _lady_ was not the word he'd use to describe a woman that chose to dress so obscenely. He was reminded further of this fact when he turned back to the bed where she lay, arms flailed about as if she was still falling. Maybe not a lady but inarguably _beautiful._

Hook noticed his hesitation; taking the opportunity to turn the tables, he said, "For God's sake, Smee, just look her over. You're old enough to be her grandfather, surely this shouldn't be a problem."

As much as Smee respected his Captain, he was sorely tempted to make a rude gesture over his shoulder. Even he didn't trust not to kill him, though, so he just took the woman's wrist in his hand, checking the strength of her pulse.

Hook watched the man work tenderly as he gently brushed through her hair, searching for any sign of a wound or concussion. _Fuck_ , he'd asked Smee to do this honestly because he wasn't sure he could trust himself to do so. Not that he thought he'd ever harm a woman — no, even Hook had his limits as a gentleman — he didn't need _more_ parts of this woman emblazoning themselves into the backs of his eyes so that he couldn't even escape her when they were closed. But when Smee lifted her torso from the bed to press an ear against the bare skin of her back, listening to her breathing, potent and undeniable jealousy spread through his bones like wildfire.

"Well, how does she look, then?!" Hook barked, his tone holding an undeniable warning. _Times up_. He followed off the question / order by topping off his glass of rum and knocking it back quickly.

More than sufficiently annoyed with his Captain now, Smee immediately stepped away and turned back to answer, "She looks fine to me, Cap'n, just reeks of liquor overtop of the saltwater. She ain't got anymore fluid in her lungs so she shouldn't get the pee-mon-ya," he tried pathetically to pronounce, "Looks like she's just sleeping off the drink. Maybe still in shock from the fall."

Hook nodded, finding these results agreeable, "Alright, Smee, leave us be. I don't want to be disturbed. I'll fetch you if I need anything further, understood?"

"Aye, Cap'n!" Smee saluted.

Hook responded in kind with his good hand, "Dismissed."

When the door shut behind Smee, James finally chanced another look at the passed out beauty in his bed. She stirred, ever so slightly, but did not wake.

She'd better wake up soon, Hook decided. The Captain was not a patient man.

* * *

Gratefully, it was less than one and a half glasses of rum later — nothing for a rum pro like Hook — that Margot _finally_ began to wake for real. And after looking around his cabin for a suitable amount of time to gain her bearings, Hook was shocked — and more than a little pleased, in a very unusual way — to find that out of all the things in his room she'd seen, she seemed not a'tall afraid of _him._

Hook was momentarily lost again, in the strange beguiling blue of her eyes, but she was quick to engage him and snap him out of it. She'd wanted to know where she was of course, but hadn't put in _any_ fight against giving up her name first.

"Margot Belle," she said. He'd liked the sound of it so much that he'd had to repeat it himself. He wanted to say it again and again.

Now _Belle_ , though, that sounded _very_ familiar. She'd said with just the tiniest hint of a French emphasis but still… It couldn't be coincidence, could it? In the midst of Neverland's greatest war?

Either way, she began to get rapidly more frantic — growing seemingly hell bent on persuading herself that everything was fine and she knew _exactly_ where she was.

And _then_ , she'd come very near to shocking him when she'd asked, "Did we fuck?"

The sinful word popping so easily from her plump cherry lips actually did the damage of making his breeches tighten. Luckily she began prattling on again far too quickly to notice. He could only understand bits of whatever she was on about — Miss Belle used a strange vernacular and possessed an equally strange accent that he could not place to any port he'd ever visited.

Before he had time to even start another question, she was trying to make her way out to the main deck, ignoring his ardent urges.

* * *

When Margot stepped out, her hand flew to her open mouth as she let out a disbelieving little squeak. She was certainly no where near the dreary early fall of England. She was standing on board an old-fashioned wooden ship in some humid, sunny, tropical paradise…

Immediately, the sound of dozens of sick whoops and catcalls erupted in front of her and she was then accosted by the site of the most literal _motley_ collection of men she'd ever seen. Dirty grins, most missing teeth, grimy dreadlocks, and an assortment of nasty permanent injuries assaulted her vision as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. In truth, the shock of it all had her paralyzed to the spot.

A powerful shot going off perilously close to her right ear shook her to her senses as well as deep down into her bones. Margot felt herself physically begin to shake. _Shit, not a good sign. Keep your head clear, girl._

"Shut up, worthless dogs!" a harsh voice growled, instantly silencing the men but not halting their leering.

Standing next to her, James noticed the girl was shaking but resisted the urge to pull her into him while everyone was still watching. If he needed to mark her as his own for her safety — she could be valuable, after all, he hadn't decided without speaking to her — he would, but he didn't want to do so in a fashion that made him appear weak. James Hook did not comfort.

Instead, he wrenched her harshly by her upper arm, all but tossing her back into his cabin and slamming the door with a satisfying crack behind her.

Margot stumbled backwards, landing square on her ass, barely feeling it because she was still in so much shock. The mix of the feeling with her hangover made her stomach lurch violently and she promptly vomited all over the floor.

She heard the man named James — the Captain? Captain James Hook? Wait a minute… — shouting violently outside the door. Something about people remembering their place but, to be honest, she couldn't catch much of it over the sound of her own sick.

She was still dry heaving when the door swung open again and she heard the clack of his high leather boots coming to stand beside her.

"God's you've made yourself sick, I _told_ you not to run out there like that," he said. He sounded annoyed — who wouldn't? — but with a sigh he knelt down next to her and held out a handkerchief. Margot accepted gratefully while he stood back up, calling out "Mister Smee!"

The little square of fabric was finely soft, something expensive, and had the initials _J.H._ sewn into it. Margot wiped her mouth, noting that it smelled heavenly of peppermint and cloves and was actually seeming to calm her head, and stomach, somewhat.

The door opened again and a dumpy little old man waddled through.

"Yes Cap'n?" he asked but then spied her sprawled out on the floor. His posture sagged, "Oh, I see. I'll get something, then."

He left just as promptly as he'd entered presumably to get cleaning supplies.

"Are you quite finished?" Hook asked, looking down at her again.

"Yeah, um, could you…?" she was reaching out a hand, asking for help standing up.

Hook scoffed. Silly woman, couldn't even manage to get herself off the floor! But suddenly she was surprising him when, instead of waiting for him to respond to her request, she simply grasped her hand carefully around his hook and hoisted herself up.

"Well…" Margot stumbled awkwardly, "That's in their good and tight."

 _By God's this woman was wanton…_ James found himself thinking but realized that she'd actually been referring to his hook when she continued to examine it curiously.

"So I take it this is as real as everything out there is?" Margot asked, her breathing finally evening out. Survival mode stage 1 complete: overcoming shock. Stage 2: assess health and establish one's bearings.

"Indeed," Hook replied, pulling the appendage away from her grasp when her hands started inspecting hire, reaching towards his arm. "Do you need to sit down, my dear Miss Belle? You seem to still be rather faint."

Margot frowned and crossed her arms. "I am _not_ 'faint,'" she complained making air quotes. "I'm not some damsel in distress, I'm just hungover. I need something to drink..."

Hook reached around to his desk to grab the cup of run he'd been drinking earlier, handing it to her.

"Oh, thank god, thank you," she said, accepting it greedily and slurping it down without thinking. Instantly, her face pinched the same way her mother's did when something disgusted her. The drink burned and Margot very nearly gagged but managed to swallow. "For fuck's sake, was that _rum?_ I meant water!"

"Oh," Hook replied, completely nonchalant, "Well, you should have specified."

"I needed to?!" she balked.

"On a pirate ship? Always," he said. "Mister Smee, fetch our guest some water."

Not that a little hair of the dog would be remiss, Margot figured. Still, she'd always had a distaste for rum.

The bo'sun, who'd already scrubbed up most of her mess looked up with the distinct expression of someone who was pretending not to have been listening. "Aye," he muttered quietly and walked over to the liquor cabinet to pull out Hook's personal supply of fresh water.

When he handed the glass to Margot, Hook murmured a soft "Leave us," watching in something akin to bewitchment as Margot hungrily chugged at the glass. She finished her drink and their eyes locked in a searing gaze. Every question Margot had been about to ask abruptly flew straight from her brain as she began to fully assess the dark man standing in front of her for the first time since she'd awoken.

The very visceral response her body was feeling to standing near him was enough to confirm that he was quite handsome. His long, loose curls black mass of hair and roguish facial hair were like something out of a fantastical dream. And something about his presence, posture, aurora… was so very viscerally and enticingly _male_. She could smell the same musk from his handkerchief from him, especially this close and it took some willpower not to lean further into it. Was it so wrong that she wanted to _cover_ herself in that smell? Wrap it around herself writhe in it's silk?

The tiniest of quirks at the corner of his mouth — fuck his mustache was sexy — cued Margot into the fact that she'd been caught drinking him in. She'd been so distracted she hadn't noticed him doing the very same thing. Seeing her brazen gaze tempted Hook just _enough_ to be a little less of a gentleman and more a typical pirate.

"See is you fell from the sky and directly into my path, madame, I should think we both have some questions for one another," James said, "But first, I believe we should address the need to find you something more suitable to cover yourself with… I'm afraid what you have on now is altogether _very tempting…"_

It took Margot a minute to find her voice, but she wasn't about to become a blushing mess in front of this man.

"Well," she replied smoothly, "That was the basic purpose of wearing it."

* * *

It was early morning in America when Tiffany was awoken by her phone ringing. Momentarily, she thought maybe her daughter was returning her call but when she answered, it was a distinctly British voice on the other end of the line.

It was Sarah, Margot's roommate.

She'd returned home from a Halloween party to find Margot missing. She'd left without her purse or shoes and Tiffany was going to need to fly to England immediately to speak with the police.

Tiffany's face blanched as the news was recounted to her. She'd _known_ something bad was going to happen. She'd felt it in her gut for a week. God why hadn't she called Margot earlier?

But it wasn't until Sarah let a final detail drop that Tiff finally grew truly frightened.

When Sarah had returned to their dorm room, she'd found their window had been left wide open…

Tiff prayed it was _only_ going to be England she'd be returning to.

* * *

 _ **Thoughts? On the right track? How soon does everyone expect smut? Please drop a note or follow!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Welcome to any new readers! Be sure to say hey! :)**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 3**_

Hours later and completely jetlagged — flying by plane was both nausea inducing and ridiculously slow compared to fairy travel — Tink was sitting on the hardwood floor outside of her daughter's dorm room as officers came in and out. The door was taped  
up so that she couldn't enter.

One of the men had kindly offered her Margot's old teddybear when they'd decided it wouldn't need to be submitted into evidence. She clutched the stained and well-loved little bear — so much like Michael's — to her chest with tears in her eyes. Margot  
hadn't slept with the thing in years. Tiff knew well enough that she just kept it around on display in bookshelves and the like; she'd been doing that since she was a teenager. But, even now, the fabric held the most trace remains of her sweet baby  
smell… the heady perfume that could lull Tiff to sleep with Margot in her arms for _hours_ when she was first born. She'd always thought it smelled just a bit like Peter.

 _Where is my daughter?!_ Tiffany thought furiously for the thousandth time that hour. Just when the frustration and pain of it all threatened to overflow and erupt into a wail of despair, an officer was bending next to her with a cup of coffee.

 _Coffee,_ one of those bitter grown-up things that Tiff had never quite adjusted to. Margot had loved it, though, so she accepted the cup gratefully, thinking of both her jetlag and her daughter.

"I know you're very concerned, Miss Belle but please try to rest assured," the man said gently, "Disappearances on Halloween on a university campus are _not_ uncommon. It is very likely that your daughter just had a bit too much to drink and will  
be back soon."

Tiff nodded, somewhat blindly, not really believing that for a second. Margot was a drinker — she wasn't _that_ naive a mother — but her daughter was smart. To smart to run off somewhere dangerous, or with someone dangerous, and get lost. Margot  
had been taken. She knew it deep in her very being.

"In any case ma'am, we need to ask you a few questions right now, if that's alright?" he asked, not really giving her a choice. She stood and followed him to the end of the hall where another officer was waiting with her in a study room. At least they'd  
be interrogating her _here_ instead of down at their station. Or well, they would be if they liked all her answers. At the very least she had the alibi of being in America during the disappearance.

After the preliminary stating of her name for the record and a few basic questions about the timeline of when she'd last heard from Margot, they got into the more heavy hitting stuff.

"Our records indicate you're initially from London, correct?" one of the officers, one with a heavy mustache, asked.

She nodded, "Yes sir."

"It also says you were adopted, by whom?"

They knew damn well by whom but they needed the story stated in her voice on their blasted recorder.

"By Ms. Moira Darling," she replied, "From the London Girls' Home when I was just a toddler."

That was the first time she'd said the name of Wendy's granddaughter since she'd shown up at the familiar window pregnant with Margot over 26 years ago. Just like Wendy, she'd been sitting in a rocking chair with the window open, a book draped across  
her lap.

She had never met Moira before, didn't even know exactly who she was when she first stepped through that window.

Moira, however, had known _exactly_ who she was and didn't even look the tiniest bit surprised when Tink had grown herself from fairy size to human size… just as she had on the strangest whim not seven months earlier with Peter.

"You're _Tinkerbell!"_ the woman breathed out in pure excitement. "Is Peter here too?"

Apparently the stories had been well passed down through the family and even future members still wholly believed in all of them. Tink had huffed in annoyance at the mention of Peter, though, "No, he is _not._ Who are _you?"_

The woman had merely smiled at the rudeness, like she both expected it and found it endearing, "I'm Moira Darling, John Darling's granddaughter. Wendy's great-niece."

Tink didn't understand the concept of great-nieces, at the time, but she recognized the name John Darling. She was just about to ask if one of the original trio was still around when Moira's brows creased in concern.

"You look exhausted, Tink," she said, standing to reach out to the fairy and offer her the rocking chair, "And you're… you're pregnant?"

That one word brought Tink's feisty walls of self-preservation crumbling down and she collapsed into the chair sobbing loudly.

"It's… it's… _Peter's!"_ she sobbed out.

"Peter?" Moira queried softly, stopping down beside her and taking her hand to sooth her, "But he's just a little boy…"

"Oh, that's what he tells everyone. That's what he wants to be," Tink complained through her sniffles, "But why do you think he followed me to Neverland in the first place? He was scared of growing up… small children hardly understand what the concept  
of growing up even means."

Moira frowned further at Tink's bitter tone as she worked it all out in her head, "Peter was… _is…_ a teenager?"

Tink nodded before falling back into another fit of sobs, burying her head in her hands while her wings flapped wiltingly behind her. "He refuses to grow up! He could never be a father!"

Moira could not have been more gracious and understanding. If Tinkerbell didn't want to return to Neverland, she was _more_ than welcome to stay right there in London as long as she desired. She was undeniably grateful for the offer but the Darling's  
historic home was far too much a reminder of Peter. She needed a new start but… she hadn't known where else to go in this world.

So Moira had helped her to find her place in herworld — first by helping her learn to stay human-sized as long as she pleased and then by helping her learn to hide her wings. Once they'd accomplished that, Moira had helped her to find a new home  
in America.

At the time, she'd happened to be courting a man in the London police department who had helped them forge all the necessary paperwork to create a real, human identity for Tinkerbell. Of course, even this friend was not privy to the entire story. As far  
as Moira's officer knew, Tink was just a friend in need of help forging a new identity. Even Moira didn't trust this man to believe in fairies or Never Neverland.

But, nevertheless, for Moira's sake he helped. Tinkerbell's new history showed that she'd been adopted in secrecy by Moira who would have fallen under great social scrutiny to raise a child without a husband.

Initially, they'd thought to change her name to Tiffany Darling, taking the surname of her adopted mother. But when Tiff admitted that the thought of taking the last name of the _one_ other girl Peter had ever loved was simply too much to bare,  
they worked out another story. Tiffany kept the last name Bell, turning it into the French "Belle," at the request of the fictional mother who had left her at the orphanage as a baby. It took a great deal more time to falsify _this_ information,  
within the records of the orphanage system, as well but they'd ultimately succeeded.

And then, at age '15' — in reality, less than two months later, with no knowledge of what her actual age was — Tiffany Belle had run away from her adoptive mother's home to give birth to her daughter in America.

All with said adoptive mother's blessing, of course, but no one needed to know that part.

"You can count on me for anything, Tink," Moira had said during their final hug before she departed. " _Tiffany,_ I mean. You can visit whenever… I'll come flying across the sea myself, the second you call. If you and the baby need any help with  
money, never hesitate to ask."

Tiff hugged her back tightly, having become much more close to this particular Darling over the weeks than she ever could have imagined.

"Thank you," Tiffany said, squeezing back into their embrace hard, "And I promise… if we need anything, I'll call."

But she'd broken that promise. She'd broken the promise that she'd reach out if she needed help but, further, she'd broken the unspoken promise that she'd simply _call,_ even if things were fine. She hadn't seen or heard from Moira since the day  
she left for America. Tiffany didn't even call when Margot was finally born a few short weeks later.

The questions of the police snapped Tiffany out of her painful reveries, "There are records here showing that you left your home in London and moved to America 26 years ago, just a few weeks prior to the birth of your daughter?"

"That's correct," Tiffany replied, clearing her voice as she snapped back into reality. "I was pregnant at fifteen and ran away from home to have Margot."

"And the father?" the second officer, the balding one who'd given her coffee, asked, "Where is Margot's father?"

"I have no clue," Tiffany lied easily, "He was a teenage one-night-stand. It was part of the reason I fled to America… I felt like I had… no one."

The officers nodded, looking cool and indecisive before asking, "You don't know his name?"

"Don't remember it, at least," she lied again. "I was fairly intoxicated when Margot was conceived."

"And when was the last time you had contact with your adoptive mother, Ms. Belle?" the officer asked.

"Not since before I ran away while I was pregnant."

"What about your daughter? Going to school here in England, has she ever been up to visit her grandmother?"

"No," Tiff replied miserably, "She doesn't even know who she is. All she knew was that I was adopted and ran away."

The police officers exchanged concerned glances.

"Ms. Belle," the mustachioed one began carefully, "You must understand that even though you've not spoken to your mother in nearly three decades, we'll need to question her next. There's always a chance your daughter discovered her family history and  
sought out answers herself…"

Tiffany nodded, "Of course, I understand. Though I sincerely doubt that's the case."

She was stuck with them for over an hour after that, answer a million odd questions and then some before they finally let her go with assurances that Margot would turn up soon.

But all Tiffany could think about was that, as _soon_ as they were done interrogating Moira, she needed to make a visit of her own immediately after. It had been a long time. It was well overdue.

* * *

"See as you fell from the sky and directly into my path, madame, I should think we both have some questions for one another," James said, "But first, I believe we should address the need to find you something more suitable to cover yourself with… I'm  
afraid what you have on now is altogether very tempting…"

It took Margot a minute to find her voice, but she wasn't about to become a blushing mess in front of this man.

"Well," she replied smoothly, "That was the basic purpose of wearing it."

 _Ah so that was her trick, he'd finally figured it out… Not that he couldn't have predicted that. She was a seductress. Oh, she didn't think he'd be taken down but such a simple trick as that, did she? Well if she wanted to act like a whore, he could treat her like one._

"Yes, I'm sure your techniques of persuasion are entirely successful," he smirked, with an air of disdain, "Might I ask, what it might cost _me_ to entertain your services for an evening?"

That ticked her off. Hook could see the fire that instantaneously lit in her eyes — again, _so familiar,_ but where? — and for a split second he thought she might make a move to slap him right across the face.

In fact, she had been about to do just that but then decided it might not be the smartest idea. Not to mention, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. He was playing some kind of game here, trying to get a reaction out of her, probably to get a  
sense of who she was. No, he would not be getting a rise out of her so easily.

"Unfortunately for you, I can't be bought," she sniffed smugly, letting the implication of deep insult hang in the air.

"My mistake, Madame," he replied drolly, "In any case, we've had some more suitable dresses brought up from port." He gestured to a large trunk that appeared to have been lugged into the room while she was passed out.

Part of her wanted to argue. _There was nothing wrong with her clothes, not really. Sure the dress was_ technically _lingerie but it had been Halloween goddamit!_ But, remembering the leering crew outside the Captain's door, not to mention  
the rapidly cooling air — why _was_ it getting so cold? It had been tropical and humid not a minute before — she decided to take a look at her options.

"So you call me a whore and then dress me in their clothes…" she mumbled stubbornly, well aware of the hypocrisy of her words.

Hook tutted at her, "I'd never put a beauty like you in the cheap sacks the whores in Pirate Town wear. No, a few years before we landed in Neverland, we pillaged the ship of a French Marquis and his daughter was on board. I had the crew bring them up  
from my vault."

But Margot's breath had caught in her throat; she had just heard the name of where she now found herself.

"I'm sorry but did you say… Neverland?"

"Aye," the Captain replied, noting well the new deathly color to her skin, "Surely you knew where you were, you can end the charade girl."

"This can't be possible, this isn't real, I'm dreaming…" she stammered.

Hook rolled his eyes, growing impatient, "I assure you this is all _very_ real. But I have no time for your hysterics, now get dressed. I will leave you for a few moments and I expect you to be properly covered when I return."

Ignoring her rapidly slumping posture as she sat back onto his bed to try to catch her breath, he strode across the room and opened the door. A harsh wind hurled through and chilled her to the bone.

"Better be quick about it too Miss Belle," he added, "It appears Pan is in a foul mood again. A blizzard is coming in."

Then he was gone.

"Peter Pan?" Margot questioned dumbly to no one. Then, "James… Captain Hook?"

Her mother had always told her to trust her intuition. She said the Belle women had a special way of knowing things. Margot had never put much stock in it except for her uncanny ability to avoid any real danger and occasionally get lucky.

But right now, her intuition seemed to be working over time. And it was telling her that everything that man had just said to her was the cold, hard truth.

* * *

In the first time in longer than she could remember, Tiffany shrunk herself up into her former size, revealing her wings and everything. It was necessary, after all, to be able to spy on the police at Moira's house.

Moira was still living in the Darling family home, though it appeared she'd finally married that police officer and was now carrying a different surname. Hence the surname "Dalton" now being proudly printed on the side of their mailbox out front.

The police had questioned Moira and her husband a considerably shorter time than they had Tiffany. Still, she waited a day and a half extra, sleeping in a tree like old times, before she finally got up the courage to approach her old friend. And, even  
when she did finally gain the courage, she was too skeptical of police surveillance to return to human-size and waltz straight up to the front door.

Instead, in the dead of night, Tiff flew delicately up to the window she so well remembered. And for the very first time, she found it shut. Nevertheless, there was Moira, asleep in the rocking chair as always. She looked older, to be sure, but not terribly  
so. She'd aged quite well.

Knowing she was still quite small, Tiff rapped as loudly as she could on the window's glass. Moira's eyes snapped open immediately, apparently still on edge from the police intrusion and she looked first toward her childhood window.

Tiff — Tink? In this emotionally wrought situation, she was losing sight of her own identity — hesitantly waved and beckoned to be let in.

She sat up quickly and undid the latch to the windows, pushing them up. It was only when Tink was fully inside the home that she felt safe enough to grow big again.

In under a second, the elder woman had her wrapped in a tight embrace.

"Oh, Tink, I've heard. The police have been to see us… Please tell me you know where she is?" Moira begged.

Tink held her close, not realizing how much she'd missed her, a few stray tears squeezing out from her eyes.

"I don't know anything for sure but I know we both have a hunch,"Tink said, "...Moira when she disappeared from her room, her window was wide open."

Moira finally pushed her away to survey her at arm's length, her gaze serious and reassuring.

"Well let's get you ready then," Moira told her, "It's time for you to visit Neverland again, Tinkerbell."

* * *

 _ **Right! It's about time we see Tink step up and Mom up! She really ought to have stayed with Moira all those years ago. To be fair, the picture we have of Tink as a mom thus far is only from Margot's point of view and raising a baby as a single fairy mom in a completely foreign world sounds pretty damn hard.**_

 _ **Anyway, hope you're enjoying the Hook / Margot chemistry. As recommended, I will let th smut be a little bit of a slow burn… But I won't make you (or me) wait too long!**_

 _ **Reviews are fuel!**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thanks to just a bit of inspiration from Pirates of the Caribbean for one moment in this chapter. That scene in the first film where Barbossa is eating with Elizabeth and says something about not needing to stand on formality here, if you're starving you can act like it. Yadda yadda. That is definitely making a distinct appearance here, I couldn't resist!**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 4**_

Margot realized she had to snap herself the hell out of it. If she wanted any more answers about what the fuck was going on, currently there was only one person she could turn to. And now that she knew who, exactly, he was — not that he hadn't been exceedingly up front about that, from the get-go, she just hadn't been listening — she thought it prudent to at least _try_ to tone down the sass.

After all, here was a man who dedicated his life to the pursuit of harming children. There was nothing more disgusting than that, as far as Margot was concerned, so she wasn't going to go out of her way to test his tolerance level. _Shit, she'd already thrown up on his floors._

Moving quickly, she darted to the trunk of dresses he'd brought up. He said he'd expected her covered when he returned and who knew just how long that could be? Hook had clearly established himself as impatient, as well, and considering that she was about to be peppering him with endless questions, it wouldn't hurt to do as he asked. _Er, told. Whatever._

When she opened the trunk, it was like seeing something from a period piece film set. But, yes, these _must have_ been pirated from someone very rich because Margot honestly hadn't seen anything of quite this quality in her life. _Real_ silk, sumptuous velvets, and _actual_ fur — ermine from the look of it. Dresses made from brocade fabric looked like they'd been sewn with threads of shining gold and silver and the lace trimming each garment was extraordinarily delicate. There were corsets and slips too, and undergarments she genuinely had no clue how to deal with. There were shoes, delicate heels, satin slippers and expensive suede boots alike. There were even gloves and hats and jewelry and she supposed they must have just swiped the whole case in one go whenever they took over it's owner's ship.

She could have spent a great deal more time admiring everything but now she was rushing to get ready before the Captain returned. And he was right about the sudden oncoming blizzard, apparently, because she could feel herself shivering violently. The fire that Smee had earlier lit in the cabin was already dwindling and she'd restock it herself if she had too.

Forgoing anything she couldn't use — such as a corset — Margot reached for the warmest looking dress she could find. It was a beautiful silk silver gown trimmed in real spotted ermine. A silver, funnily enough, that wasn't unlike the flimsy lingerie she'd just stepped out of. It had a low cut scoop neck but delicate lace provided modesty and a velvet ribbon was sewn into the waist. Neither the sleeves nor the hips of the dress were terribly poofy, thank god, and it was actually quite slimming. The sleeves tapered out into lace that cut off just at the crook of her elbow.

Once she finished slipping into it, she realized that _damnit to hell_ there was lacing all up the back of the gown that needed to be tied shut but she couldn't nearly reach all of it our even hope to feel what she was doing. With a sigh she knew she'd have to suck it up and ask the Captain to help her when he returned.

In the meantime, she chose some shoes, flat and thin but warm enough white little velvet slippers with what appeared to be real pearls embroidered into them. With a glance in a large mirror near Hook's own wardrobe, she realized her hair had dried in tangles from her fall into the water. Finding his brush — which he seemed to keep fastidiously clean as not a trace of one of his long black hairs could be found in it — she raked it through her hair until her blonde tresses finally fell blessedly straight again. Well, now his brush had _her_ hair in it but she sure as hell had no plans to clean it out.

He still hadn't returned yet so she walked back over to the trunk. The guy had already flatly labeled her a whore when she'd simply tried flirting with him so seduction wasn't her aim — still, Margot hadn't met a man yet that didn't soften just a little for a pretty face so she started looking through the few jewels still in the former Marquis' daughter's possessions. Some of them were so large and gaudy that they were practically ugly. Finally she found what appeared to be a simple but rather large amethyst, about the size of a small peach pit. It was cut in hexagonal shape and hung alone and unadorned on a thin silver chain. Finally she found a stunning little white fur caplet that she gratefully threw around her shoulders as wind from the storm outside crept in through the wood cracks of the cabin.

And right as she finished, she heard a soft knocking at the door.

"Come in," she answered softly, resisting the urge to fiddle with her fingers while nervous.

When the door opened, sure enough, the once tropical island was now an intimidating mountain of ice. Instead of the sun beating down, snow was gusting forcefully from the sky and blowing into the room. Hook, standing in the doorway for just a second before slamming it behind him, had put on the brilliant red and gold coat he was so famous for over his black shirt and breeches. There was no denying who he was… Quickly melting snow dusted his long black tresses.

And as she assessed him, she was more aware this time when he began to study her, examining her new appearance slowly from the bottom up. He very obviously — somehow, without being creepy or lecherous — took his time gazing at her hips, her decolletage, and finally her neck. He revealed the ghost of a smile when his stare found the purple jewel necklace.

"You look stunning, Miss Belle. Silver is truly your color," he complimented her softly, "I knew there was a lady in their somewhere."

"You doubted it before?" she couldn't help but tease, partially making fun of herself and that skimpy costume which was suddenly beginning to seem very silly in comparison to the rich fabric on her now.

"That you were a beautiful woman? Not for a second. That you were a lady? Up until this _very_ second," he laughed right back and even she had to smile because his tone held no genuine judgement or malice.

"You're cold," Hook noted next when he saw the fur caplet adorning her shoulders. "I'll call up Smee to restock the fire. Who knows how long this bloody storm will last while Pan throws his latest tantrum…"

"Wait, um, James?"she asked before he could reach for the door again. He turned to look at her quizzically and Margot couldn't help but sense that it was in part from being unused to hearing his first name. "Before anyone else comes in, I actually needed your help with something."

Margot slipped the caplet off her shoulders and turned around to reveal her still very much exposed bare back. _Fuck_ it was like she could feel his gaze searing into her skin, drinking in every inch of her. Hopefully he wouldn't think she was trying to pull some kind of trick and run her through with his hook from behind.

 _But he wouldn't do that, would he?_ she thought, as memories about what she knew of him from popular culture filtered back. _He'd consider that bad form…_

"I've never worn a dress like this, they don't even make them where I'm from and I can't tie up the laces," she explained.

He didn't answer immediately and, for a second with her back still turned, she blushed when she realized — his hook! What if he couldn't…

"Even women who wear these regularly need help, I forgot," he replied easily though, and she heard him stride over to her in just two long steps. And then his hook and hand both were on her. _Of course_ , he'd know how to do it, he was the captain of a ship after all! Everyone on board had to be able to secure a knot, missing a hand or not. Currently she could feel that it crooked through the lacing almost like he was crocheting her dress shut.

He worked quickly and deftly, sinching her in so tightly that it almost felt like she'd worn a corset after all. And every few passes, the cool metal of his hook or the warm callous of his hand would pass across her bare skin — she wasn't naive enough to even try and convince herself it was an accident, he fucking knew what he was doing.

His hook stroked the nape of her neck when he tied the final knot and Margot could not have _hoped_ to stop the tiny little gasp that tumbled from her lips. The way they _both_ stilled at the sound, Margot knew he'd heard her. A blush crept up hot and heavy over her cheeks and up into her ears.

"There you are," James said, playing it off surprisingly graciously, "Anyway, you're still cold, I'll tend to the fire myself. Smee should be bringing up supper shortly anyway. Have a seat Miss Belle."

And the way he avoided her eyes as he turned to busy himself with the fire — a task she was sure he didn't often have to complete himself — Margot got the sense that he was as unnerved right now as she.

"Thank you," she replied before sitting down in one of his luxurious leather chairs by his bookshelves and enormous globe.

For awhile, she allowed herself to simply watch him, entranced. As he built the fire higher, he ultimately removed the fabulous red coat again and tossed it onto his bed. Margot felt herself kind of missing it.

Finally, she cleared her voice, "So, um, this Pan… Peter Pan? He can change the weather?"

"You've heard of Pan?" he asked, standing when his work was finished, the cabin was quickly warming, "But you were shocked when I said Neverland?"

"I've heard of Neverland too… Just never believed it existed, same goes for Peter Pan," she shrugged, "I've heard of you too."

He smiled roguishly. "Pray, indulge me, what have you heard?"

Margot gave him an apologetic look, "To be honest? The general gist of it is that you hunt children and got a phobia of crocodiles after one bit off your hand."

The Captain looked so horrified that Margot had to struggle very hard not to laugh.

"I do _not_ hunt children!" Hook railed, "And I killed that blasted crocodile years ago!"

Margot hid her laugh behind a cough. Regardless, Hook's eyes caught her sharply anyway but she demurred quickly. "To be fair, you've brought up Pan several times since I've been here."

"Pan is hardly a child," he growled before a light knocking at the door, "Come in!"

Hurriedly and without a word, Smee let in a small brigade of men, two of whom were carrying a large oak dinner table and two chairs, though Margot didn't know where they'd have room to put it. That question was answered when Smee began rotating a large crank she hadn't entirely noticed that began to lift Hook's giant bed into the air to be tucked up towards the ceiling. The men arranged a place to eat in its stead.

Margot let out a low impressed whistle, "You really got a legit hook-up in here…"

"Hook-up?" he snarled, not at all understanding her again.

"Sorry," she waved him off, "I have to remember to keep the slang… the, uh, colloquialisms from my time to a minimum. That had nothing to do with _your_ hook, I was just saying your room is pretty impressive."

"I have resided in this cabin a very long time," Hook replied, still looking at her suspiciously, "But to answer your initial question, no, Peter Pan cannot control the weather here. Mysteriously, his moods and presence or absence appear to have drastic effects on the weather but I don't believe he has any real control."

Margot "hmmed" thoughtfully though she's almost forgot asking that question; it had been more awkward small talk. That, and, she was presently very distracted. Behind the men who had set up the table and chairs, were a troupe of others bringing in candelabra and silver and glassware. And then, the aroma of food hit her nose and Margot realized in her shock she had barely noticed how ravenous she was.

After the men lay out the table settings and lit the candles — with Hook still standing beside the now roaring fireplace, barking out the occasional order — the food came. They brought everything from platters of fresh fruit and grilled vegetables, to towers of seafood, to a freshly roast duck and beautiful French pastries and elaborate cakes. Suddenly, the once large table looked overwhelmed with food and Margot couldn't believe it would be for just the two of them.

Hook could see very well how hungry she was and felt pleased. Particularly when it came to women, he vastly preferred to catch his flies with honey instead of vinegar. From the beautiful jewel she'd picked for herself to the way she was eyeing a serving tray of fresh steamed mussels, he knew his plan was succeeding. Miss Belle would be absolutely pliant when it came to answering all of his questions, he was sure.

Approaching the table, he pulled out one of the chairs as his men cleared the room, "Please Margot, have a seat. I thought we might continue to get to know one another over dinner instead of blankly interrogating one another," he said, his Hook extended towards her in invitation, "Much more civil, don't you agree?"

She nodded and leapt up from the leather chair earthly, plopping herself down in front of the feast in what she was sure her friend Sarah would call a terribly unladylike fashion. Margot had yet to come to appreciate the British sense of propriety, though. Neither had her mother, apparently, considering she'd left and moved to America and was frequently considered gauche even by American standards.

"Help yourself, my dear. We have no waitstaff here," he said after pushing in her chair and seating himself opposite her. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes; obviously she hadn't been waiting for servers but even she knew that it was polite to wait for everyone to sit down before starting to eat.

Regardless, she took his invitation at face value, and immediately reached out, ignoring serving utensils, to pile cuts of meat, rolls, and slices of cheese on her plate. She dug in without another word, scarfing down a succulent piece of roast duck first and allowing herself the small satisfaction at groaning aloud at the taste.

"God _damn_ I was hungry," she said, mouth still partially full causing Hook to quirk an eyebrow in distaste but not caring, "Oh my _God_ , who made this? This is like the best Peking duck I've ever had, tastes like I'm in a really expensive Chinese restaurant."

"I believe one of our cooks is from the somewhere in the Orient…" he responded casually, still slightly in awe with the feral way this woman ate.

For Margot's part, his archaic use of the term "the Orient" was was gave her pause but she was too hungry to think on it too long. Besides, despite her hunger, there were more pressing matters to consider.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her lips as politely as she could muster with a napkin at her place setting, "But you said earlier, that when you found me I had fallen from the _sky?_ Did I really hear that right?"

"Aye, you don't remember?" the Captain asked, slicing into a cut of pork in a far more refined manner than she'd probably seen anyone ever use cutlery before. His table manners probably would have even made Sarah's hoity-toity fiance Rex jealous. "Smee reported that he spotted a fairy carrying you."

At this, Margot finally did burst out laughing, nearly spitting some of the fine wine that had been poured into a crystal glass for her. As usual, Hook silently regarded her until she had a chance to compose herself with those ever-so-subtly judgemental eyes that she was _really_ coming to resent. She did not care to be continuously assessed like there was something wrong with her.

"I'm sorry… I'll buy Neverland, considering that I ended up in the tropics with no explination and those tropics turned into an arctic tundra in less than twenty minutes but I just… I'm sorry, _fairies?"_

"Well I'm not sure else how you would have gotten here, unless you can fly yourself?"

"With a good pilot, _sure,_ I fly just fine."

"In this case it would appear that a fairy guide was your pilot, Miss Belle. And I implore you to remember who, exactly, it was and why they wanted you here," he said, his tone holding just a hint of malice and that constant suspicion.

"I don't know _how_ I got here but it definitely wasn't via mystical creature!" she argued, growing more vehement by the second, even as she continued shoveling food into her mouth. _Hell_ , her hungover stomach had needed something solid.

"Again you say you've heard of Neverland," Hook argued right back, "So surely you should be familiar with the fact that it's inhabited by many species of magical creatures, not just the fairies. Mermaids, unicorns…"

"Oh come on, not all of that can be true! What's next, there's dragons here too? Look, I don't believe in unicorns or mermaids. I don't believe in-" but Margot couldn't finish the thought. It was like the word fairies was physically stuck in her throat. She tried swallowing, noting that she really needed to slow down when she ate, and tried again, "I don't believe in-" She frowned when it happened again. It was completely beyond her control. With a determined frown she fisted her hands at her sides and shut her eyes tightly as she attempted to force out the words, "A fairy couldn't have brought me here. They aren't real. I don't believe in-"

James watched her with furrowed brows as realization began to dawn.

"Well my sweetling, it appears it doesn't matter if you believe in… _them…_ or not," Hook said, avoiding that particular phrase for the first time in his life, "Because you are one."

"I'm sorry?" Margot asked, "I'm one what?"

"You're a fairy."

"Oh, shut the fuck up."

"You watch your tongue while you're a guest aboard my ship, girl! Or you'll soon find yourself a prisoner in my brig!" he spat, raising his Hook to point at her. Margot actually reeled backwards a bit; it must have been her imagination but he looked literally so angry that his eyes seemed to be turning from cold blue to angry crimson.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," she said immediately, putting her hands up defensively, "You're right that was rude, you just took me aback. I only meant… first you say a fairy brought me here, now you're saying I am one? Why on Earth would you think that?"

"Because the only people who are physically _incapable_ of saying 'I don't believe in...them," Hook explained, gesturing towards her at the word _them_ , "Are fairies themselves."

"So, are _you_ a fairy?" she asked, skeptical.

"Of course not," he scoffed.

"Then why can't _you_ say it?"

"Why did you claim to have heard the stories of Neverland if you haven't? Every time someone says that, a fairy falls down dead," James explained, "And for all we know, it could bloody well end up being _you._ "

* * *

 **Well hey Captain Hook, that's pretty thoughtful! Or maybe just selfish. He does want to keep her alive to see if she's playing a part in Pan's war, after all. And** _ **maaaaybe**_ **he's already starting to be a teensy bit attracted? ;)**

 **Our first solo Hook/Margot chapter! Thoughts? Miss the rest of the characters' plots? Want more Pan? Let me know! And please fav or follow or both!**

 **Sorry for any major editing errors, in all chapters not just this one, I've been writing a lot of this on my phone and need to go back and make real edits.**


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